Weened on Hallowed Wood

Severed heads are sacrificed; the blood trickles toward the penthouse cellar. Se7en spaced the severity of the unsubtlety of his deflection — a brazen attempt to have his having had an active gaydar steal the spotlight away from the evil he used it for. Narcissus knows no bonds — none too tight from which to wiggle with glee. He’d be given to going, “It’s time to say ’twas not my intent, but coincident to coming clean’.” But silence is also an option.

Monday’s Man o’ Fort saw the phrase ‘dictator friendly’ just often enough to bring to mind an entire country’s intelligence combined. Verily. One could strikethrough each instance of the named in the indictment and replace it with ‘the US’. However, either’d serve as apt metonymy for machinations of autocrat-o-philic money laundering. But let’s not forget about extortion and racketeering.

Now for FAKE MUSE!

Blutkotzende Goten – bis Marzahn  – Unkrautrock (1989)

 

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Bootsy 66!

Not an excuse to link my trip to ’77, a year in which he featured prominently, but a Bootsy birthday recognition /slash/ album release alert. World Wide Funk flies to-morrow & can be got thru bootsycollins.com. I expect it’ll be at the record store, d’boot. Also of note: Bootsy’s got the only Facebook site worthy of the right to exist (which conundrumly’d (dis)include FB itself).The following’re two tracks from 1993, whose blasting through a young man’s JBL100T speaker cabinets driven at volume from 100 watts per in my seems-like long-ago Lakeview lodging sent me out of sorts & into a figurative funk… for I felt everything else I had there-d’fore relished was not just suddenly pallid in contrast but meaningless, as in utterly, worthy of expressed redundant semantic hyperbolic superfluousness. This’d prove to be a silly if serious sentiment not of lasting affect, but the passion continues for this & all things Bootzilla. Plus both of these albums got the passed-perfect Bernie Worrell all up in ’em – not that there’s much Bootsy that don’t, the new one included.

This here’s ‘J.R.’, baby ‘(Just Right)’, from His New Rubber Band album. Bernie’s bouncy key riff really got meh &’s still so something to’th’ je ne sais quasi ditty doozy, baba!

If that’n’t enough, here’s one from Lord of the Harvest under one of William Earl ‘Bootsy’ Collins’ many aliases, Zillatron. It’s one of a slew of great works Bill Laswell put out on his Black Arc label around this time.

For a live taste here he is Stretchin’ Out on the Night Music program with something from where it began with his original Rubber Band, here however harboring the likes of the late Hiram Bullock (probably courtesy of David Sanborn who was curating the show by then) and Omar Hakim, who I just happen to’ve seen perform live w/n.o.t. KT Bush <warning: most clicked davidly):

 

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Heaven on their Minds

 

No mind is clearer now
Not least none too well
Can we see how it’s no mystery
If you’d stripped away
The myth from the land
You’d have seen where we all soon would be
Donald!

You started to believe the things they say of you
You really do believe this talk of Don is true
For all the shit he’s done with hist’ry’s human poo
He’s begun to matter more than all the things we do

I remember when this whole thing began
No talk of orange what was called a thin tan
Though he deceives, the supplication toward him doesn’t lie
Yet everything he seethes
You take for blasphemy
While the lies you hold have fed his rise

New Amsterdam’s famous son
Might have left the globe unknown
Like his father riding hood
He’d have burned wood
Hotel towers and TV shows
Oprah asking Donald those
Questions caused nobody stress
No one would jest

Knowing Donald he does care for his race
No one sees they must bow to save face
We have occupied
Have you forgotten all the crimes we’ve done?
I’m not startled by the crowd
For our silence was so loud
When we crushed them we had gone too far
We’ve gone too far

 

Der Parkbank Pinkler: rückvierundzwanzig

„Wie es euch gefällt. Ach! Wenn ihr wollt, könnt ihr gleich auch die Wohnung nebenan haben.”

—der Makler spielende Hausbesetzer
.VIXX

Unfern der Polysemie auf dem Schild von Handlungsträger Guy Le Marue, bekannt durch Sätze wie „Kein der ist da” und „Mir fehlt die Geduld zum Anfangen”, hilfreich nimmt man zur Kenntnis: Jede gegebene Arbeitsstelle ist eine Rolle besetzt. Angestellte übernehmen Teile des Stücks anstelle vom Chef, der seine eigene Rolle spielt, wie eigentlich auch im Text angewiesen. Texte und Bühnenanweisungen sind im Arbeitsvertrag geschrieben, sind aber nicht nötig. Der Lehrling können es auswendig, ohne eine Zeile gelesen zu haben. Schon als Kleinkind ist die Vertragsessenz eingewurzelt. Das Leben von vormittags im Kindergarten bis am Abendtisch ist eine Einstudierung von Verhältnissen, Funktionen und dementsprechenden Rollen.

Unterlässt der Angestellte später einmal seine Aufgabe, ist es möglich schlimmer als uns der Begriff Dienstverweigerung wahrhaben würde. Weniger Eigenwille oder Sturheit ist dies Indiz für die schwächelnde Fähigkeit das Merkwort zu erkennen und darauf richtig zu reagieren. Tiefer zeigt man Zeichen der Abnutzung, was kein Probedurchgang zum Auffrischen entgegenwirken kann. Der Akteur ist so gut wie tot.

In der charakteristischen Arbeitswelt, auf der typischen Bühne, Eigenwille, der nicht schon zur Seite geworfen wurde, wird hundertprozentig dem Stück gewidmet. Keiner erwartet, dass der Darsteller Hintergrundinformation parat hat, denn diese sind dagegen nur so im Hintergrund darzustellen. Ausschließlich der Anschein von Kompetenz steht im Vordergrund. Sieht es aus, als arbeitet einer in Wirklichkeit mit Geheimnisse, sind Fehler rasch zuzugeben. Ob das Vorhandensein von Geheimarbeit einzugestehen ist, hängt nur davon ab, inwiefern solche angebliche beziehungsweise scheinbare Öffentlichkeiten den Zwecken des Bühnenwerks dienen.

Viele nehmen an, dass irgendeiner etwas über bestimmte vertuschte Zusammenarbeit zwischen anderen weiß, da nicht wenige geben so vor, in Besitz von in den Schoß gefallenen Informationen zu sein, spielen aber kokett mit Details. Die Konsumenten warten gespannt, als wäre immer die nächste Enthüllung signifikanter als halt hin und her auf den Brettern weiter, als stamme der Dialog aus der Einsicht, was für ‘ne Rolle andere Rolle spielen. Vielmehr ist diese Kenntnis nicht vorhanden. Bewusst ist man allein angeheuert worden zu sein, um einen Job zu tun. Wirkt man kokett anhand vorgegebener Geheimsachen, hat er hiervon keine Ahnung. Jeder besitzt nur Eigenaufgabe abhängigen Informationen. Infos von Kollegen oder andere leuchten einem nicht ein.

Es gibt andere Spieler. Sie sind vom Spiel ausgeschlossen.

__

 

 

Gluttonily Greedily

It is said in certain corners here & there that today is a milestone birthday. It’s not the day that grocery shoppers were loosed in the arteries of a waste of their own making, to snort & squeal their own way towards cleanups on aisle be damned if I’m gonna mop my own mess in addition to having to take over the task of schlepping my own wares to a checker not of my own damn choosing.No, that day was one & one hundred years ago, a month ago or so. Today is the day we celebrate a storekeeper’s official acquisition of the right to, I dunno, I guess get compensation from copycats? I’m patently no lawyer so can only wonder at the avarice level unleashed with that application as to how deep in dollars, and years yet to last, any ongoing remuneration.

I know of personal sloth afforded by bags & cans, but have personally seen the industrial diligence depicted in film segments on Sesame Street. How enchanting the wonder that brings beans to market! What I didn’t know — though I’d been familiar enough with the country store in Westerns or the drugstore in Mayberry, Hollywood — was that fetching one’s own Count Chocula abides a long proud tradition of outsourced labor… to the customer!

And what a way it was to have conceived it! You gotta envy the ingenuity. In all of our piggily wiggling, we’re in fact sweating schmucks as if we don’t need no stinking wages! They should be paying us to cart our shit to the stand! And for all these hundred years… I want revenge! Though I suppose in the world of legal predators, not forgoing the filling of one’s own wagon might add up to signing off on a deal to forgo a paycheck for the right to engage in activities listed in Patent Number US1242872 A.

Lawyer up, people! I wanna see this shit go down!

Just who’s doing the abiding here?

 

Sing Same Old Saturday: Gun Control

Here’s something I wrote two years ago this date. For context: while cries for control ring about, mongers stock has risen in deed, then guys who hawk the concept of security, the good folks who lobby for them, &, who knows, even those who just innocently muse. Disclosure: I don’t care much about my personal freedom as it relates to open secret snooping or home inhuman security services, but I also don’t care much for the commodification of compliant paranoid suspicion.On the title: Don’t have a gun & don’t want one. If the strictest gun control were miraculously able to make it through the US Congress, that’s fine with me. What might it look like? I see cocaine: a flawed analogy, in that you can’t cap somebody from a thousand paces with a crack rock, but that won’t stop the same formidable forces from flying it in, buying & selling it, and firing it up & trying. To great turnover. There’s money in implausibly solvable problems and it’s worth so much more than twenty-three modified melee machines and any freak who’d bet their hotel trip on ’em.

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Gun Control

When the US bombs a hospital, it’s the Taliban’s fault or at the Afghan coalition’s behest. But a guy running amok on American students is the fault of gun laws.

The sickness that leads to the latter above is characteristically evident in the way a discussion of the former unfolds and is subsequently shaped. Never never never would the American intentionally target a hospital as a military objective. Unless they had good reason, of course. Ideological returns on what that all means may vary. At worst a mistake with vaguely criminal implications.

Ignored is the fact that the stated objective as it relates to tactical regional command and the individual action thereunder and, not of lesser importance, the governmental legislation or lack thereof that dictates an entire policy are not homogeneous.

Anybody old enough to remember the stories told by returning vets from Viet Nam can testify to the divergence in stated policy and coordinated action. In this case, soldiers often complained that they were kept in a state of stalemate. This is instructive, as the objective from highest above was not to win a conflict, but to maintain it. Why? Weapons and heroin. There were longterm goals, but it takes more than military labor to fund them.

Gee, what could Afghanistan have in common with that? The amount of money generated from weaponry in any conflict zone is significant, but it’s usually only the cost to the taxpayer that’s discussed in the media. And the amount of money generated by the opium trade is likewise significant, but the US would never traffic in that, would they?

The longterm strategy is a pipeline of a different kind. This funds itself as long as other resources flow. Now, you might ask, why would the US under such circumstances deliberately target a hospital? Well, for one thing, when you as a country release your dogs for any action, you cannot count on the logic of the warrior to maintain the philosophical code of fiction that defines the killing. Add to that the general stress of war over generations (in Afpak, 14 years and counting), then you lose even a semblance of the myth of decorum.

I’d like to say I don’t know why the American can be so blind to recurring obvious precedents regarding their intelligence service’s function as project manager of perpetual war profiteering, but I am aware that otherwise intelligent people get buried in the patriotic paradigm after a mere few formative years, let alone a lifetime of conditioning.

You don’t have to be jingoistic to represent the worldview and mindset of the nationalist. Even anti-war folks claim to be “for the troops” with little-to-no real idea what the implications of this attitude are. Homies always get the benefit of the doubt.

The war’s a ruse. Not that it doesn’t produce plenty of terror. The most accomplished thing about Dick’s Iraq was that he in all likelihood knew that by misattributing a moment’s motif of simple numbered significance to real or imagined purveyors of WMD, the ongoing action in Afghanistan (and eventually everywhere else that would follow) would be last season’s flop that nobody’s watches even free on Yootoob. Because we all just know how it turned out: it was the Taliban’s harboring of OBL & his Al Ciadydids that made the whole thing happen. The perps who hailed from the princely peninsula of persuasively profitable exchanges & agreements would be amused at their homeland’s dealer’s gun issues.

Why is it that Americans continue to pick which intelligence they believe and which intelligence is manufactured? Not one person prattling on about Sunni & Shia in Iran, Iraq, and Syria has a friggin’ clue about the veracity of any intelligence. Not by the longest of shots.

I can’t imagine why a nation waging war in hundreds of countries, killing by a conservative estimate two million people over a decade-and-a-half during which both allowable parties have enjoyed majorities and multiple terms would be a land where people occasionally shoot each other.

If one were to take an entirely dispassionate view of the world as it is today, they might suggest that the best form of gun control in America would be to let the Americans exhaust their munitions on each other to make the rest of the world a safer place. But, of course, the idea that Americans could exterminate themselves by running amok is as much a hyperbolic pipe-nightmare as it is that they might win a war on terror. Either one would be bad for business.

 

Kito Lorenc • 4 March 1938 – 24 September 2017

A giant of a wordsmith has gone to earth. As with grain growing toward its sun — this essayist & playwright and erstwhile editor & dramaturg, foremost bi-lyrical poet & constructor of verbs, decoder & developer of expression — this complete creator of meaning has set down not a last episode, but a lasting one.Bestowed with the legacies of Heine & Hesse and Mann & Lessing, and Petrarca, Kito Lorenc must have been a perfecter of that which Ćišinski is reputed to’ve found in the lyricism of their West Slavic voice, not only digging up each definition by its roots but also spinning the pots in which to replant them.

He translated his own work and was astute enough in that art to be the first to unite his inherent & acquired German & Sorbian in verse. For, as he reckoned, one was good for visits to the public authorities and philosophical musings, the other for house and garden and the walnut tree in the yard.

REDE-WENDUNGEN
Ich steh auf Messers Schneide
knietief in der Kreide
als fünftes Rad am Wagen
und will ein Schnippchen schlagen.

Auf dem Zahnfleisch krieche
ich in Teufels Küche.
Der Teufel malt mich an die Wand
und legt mir Feuer in die Hand.

Ich sauf im Sitzen Tinte,
werf Korn in meine Flinte,
streu Puder auf mein Haupt und jag
die Katze aus dem Klammersack.

Und wie’s mich juckt, so kommen
die Felle angeschwommen
mit Zähnen auf den Haaren,
die noch voll Suppe waren.

Kaum hab ich einen blassen Dunst
der Tuten- und der Blasenkunst,
da beißt die Maus den Faden ab,
der ich den Marsch geblasen hab.

from Wortland by Kito Lorenc (Leipzig Reclam 1984)